


I want to be in that number!

by Metas



Series: T'aint nobody's business if I do [3]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Murder, Musical References, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metas/pseuds/Metas
Summary: No, that’s fear in their eyes, none of it directed at her.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Rosie (Hazbin Hotel), Niffty (Hazbin Hotel) & Mimzy (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: T'aint nobody's business if I do [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542289
Comments: 7
Kudos: 157





	I want to be in that number!

Pentagram City wasn't a kind place to new comers, it had the kind of in-coming out-going the likes you’d only expect from a breadline. 

Few people ever managed to really make the place their home and those that did often had either connections, “talents” or enough power to steal their place in the city from someone else. Every other person “living” in the city was doing so on borrowed time and they all knew it.

It was expected, really, for a city located in Hell, it’s where the worst of the worst go after all. That the city was the closest thing to a capital simply meant that the big wig demons and devils lived there pushing the point further how temporary ones “living” there could be.

Even so, the streets of the city were bustling with sinners like it was a normal day, the sounds of civilization still so loud and distracting even in a place like hell where you’d expect you’d hear more screams of torment from the damned. 

Not that you don't hear those now and then, but they more or less only ever come from the shadowy alleyways between the tall packed buildings, where only the dumb or new would try their luck to cut through.

In one particular alleyway kneels a fellow lying in wait, having been there for a while now, obscured slightly by a tin garbage can. He watches the puff of his own breath come out into the surprisingly bitterly cold air that is a night in hell. 

The sinner aims to be a predator rather then the prey, looking for his first blood which comes soon enough in the form of a white spider with an annoyed look on his face, He’s wearing a black pinstripe suit and is absolutely not aware what awaits him as he walks further down the alley, grumbling to himself about his shitty pops or whatever. 

The sinner gives a malicious smile at how easy the idiot is making it for him, pulling a knife out of the back of his pants, ready to pounce.

It happens fast, as the sinner jumps out at the spider, trying to go in for the kill immediately but the spider is quick on the uptake. one of his claws narrowly blocking the knife hand while his free one shoots out in a panic, rocking the jaw of the sinner. 

The force of the punch causes the man to release the knife, letting it tumble across the floor before he and the spider start to grapple on the floor, cursing at each other.

The pair roll around the alley, managing to knock over the can the ambush-er had been hiding behind, scattering its contents around the alleyway floor.

Unbeknownst to either brawler, a black blob tumbles out alongside the trash coming to a rest near the alley wall before an eye opens up, iris dilating wide before contracting to a pinpoint as it takes in the scattered trash, the fight going on nearby that is likely the cause of the mess, stopping on the glint of metal among the litter. 

The eye shoots back to the duo when suddenly the blob is gone.

The sinner manages to get the upper hand, mounting the spider both hands around his neck, manic smile wide and high on adrenaline as the spider tries to buck him off. He’s about to do it, he’s going for his first kill, when suddenly he feels a sharp ripping pain at his back forcing him to a still, adrenaline cooling immediately. 

Using his momentary surprise the spider shoves his assailant back sputtering for air while he backs away. The sinner reaches back to feel the spot here the shock of pain hit him, his hand coming away warm and wet. 

He never notices until too late the eye watching him in the dark, until it’s on top of him, mounting him like he did his would be victim, and his world is full of pain, cries and wet gurgles. The eye of a predator staring down at him and the glint of his own knife, stained red now, shining from the far off lights of the main street are the last things he sees.

The small predator survey's its handiwork, turning suddenly to look for the other demon only to see they’ve long since left through the other side of the alleyway. 

Slowly the eye shifts back towards the main street entrance only this time to come knee to face with another person who wasn’t there before. 

He’s clad from head to toe in a classy red and black suit, monocle and a top hat above and between red hair, or maybe it’s ears, it’s hard to tell in the dark.

The knife is up in a defensive posture before radio static breaks the tense air between them accompanied by a jovial voice.

“Now that was very entertaining to watch, my dear, You’ve got quite a knack for this kind of thing.” 

The eye looks up at the new intruder, their red eyes and blade sharp teeth, curved into a sharper smile, glowing eerily in the darkness of the alley, another predator. The knife is ready to strike when the wielder is blinded by a sudden beam of red light in its face coming from a cane the other was holding, illuminating the crime scene and perpetrator. 

The killer turns out to be a small child, stick thin and wearing filthy threadbare clothes stained in muck and blood, it almost reminds the older gentleman of the depression. 

Moving out of the way, the red dressed man introduces himself, plucking the child out of the air by the collar of her shirt with an air of nonchalance and false serenity when she tries to launch herself at his chest.

“The name’s Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you! I was passing by and I couldn't help but marvel at your live Performance! The look in your eye! The deeply repressed passion!”

The child says nothing, instead trying to get out of the taller demon’s surprisingly iron grip, she’s about to stab him but her hands are empty. 

Thinking she’d dropped her weapon, the little demon’s eye darts around frantically when the red demon turns her around showing her the blade between his fingertips.

“Yes sir! The way you handled your victim really got the blood pumping … out of him!”

An out of place laugh track sounds out, ringing off the alleyway walls, making it echo into the night, but there’s nothing funny about this situation. The girl looks at him silently until the man seems to dim down just a little catching his current audience’s mood. 

“But I’ve volunteered my name, May I have the pleasure of knowing yours darling?”

The question is met with silence and Alastor raises an eyebrow, smile still in place. The child’s single eye is trained on him, face blank.

“No name then? And no living space if your attire is anything to go by! No, no, this just wont do! How about you come with me to meet some of my friends? We can probably get a firecracker like you sorted!”

It’s not even a question as Alastor begins walking back towards the main street with her still pinched between his fingers, dropping the knife to the alleyway floor.

The place where he was to meet his “friends” turns out to be a club, bursting at the seams with sinners of all kinds clamoring to get in. The rowdy crowd at front of the door becomes deathly quiet upon their approach and the girl can see they aren’t curious nor shocked into stillness at the odd appearance of their new arrivals. 

No, that’s fear in their eyes, none of it directed at her. 

The door man simply opens the door boldly not making eye contact even though she can see the bullets of sweat coming down his brow, to which Alastor gives him an approving smile and nod before they enter.

The first thing she notices is that it’s not bitingly cold in the club like it is outside, nor is it unbearably hot as it would be in the day, it’s just the right temperature to comfortable. 

The next is that the interior is flashy: full of color, music, people and dancing, it’s almost too much stimulation for her senses before she’s suddenly plopped down on the softest seat she’d ever sit on since she’s come to hell. Across from her is a woman dressed in Victorian looking right out of a history text book. 

She doesn't look perturbed at her unexpected guest, rather she looks happy at their arrival, or at least the arrival of her kidnapper.

“Oh, Alastor! I’m so glad you were able to make it before the show began!”

“Rosie, my dear, I wouldn't miss it for the world. No I managed to make a new friend on my way over!”

The woman, Rosie, turns her gaze on the girl, deep and calculating, smile broad and sharp as the man next to her; it clicks in the girl's head. This was a table of predators and for once the girl thinks she should feel fear. 

Rosie seems to catch on to her apprehension as her gaze breaks into a practiced warmth that seems almost fake with how quickly it was produced. 

“Good evening dear, My name is Rosie. Don’t fret, a friend of Alastor’s is a friend of mine. Though I have to ask, given your current state of dress, where you’ve come from.“

The girl looks down from her gaze, deciding quiet is better than actually saying anything at all to these dangerous people. Which works fine because Alastor decides to tell the story himself, exaggerating in detail the act she committed not ten minutes prior, almost proud of it like he was the one who did it himself. 

Rosie’s smile is just a little more open now when Alastor finishes and she still hasn’t said a word to either of them, The atmosphere is genuinely warmer, odd considering that the subject being spoken about was a murder in the dead of night.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask, what is your name Dear?”

“I’m not so sure she has a name but the spunk on this kid! The conviction! With some careful guidance and time I believe she could be truly nifty! If she stays with us that is.”

Alastor finally turns back to her seemingly finishing the conversation they were having about her over her head like she wasn’t there.

“What do you say darling? Would you like to stick around with us?”

The lights dim down and music from the big band on stage begin to wash over the crowd as a somewhat plump woman walks out to cheers, singing loudly and proudly. Rosie turns to clap but Alastor still has his gaze on her. 

The girl looks down at her lap, picking at the shirt she’d been wearing for months since she’d woke up here without a place to go or a friend to call. There’s no kindness here in hell, let alone pentagram, you have to fight your way to the top. 

Her ears prick at the familiar song, from the small memories of what she did remember when she was alive it was popular, seems to be popular here in hell too despite it’s subject matter. 

She looks up and away from him, at the stage and the singer pouring her heart out on it; she remembers wishing she could be that too. For the first time since he came crashing into her afterlife she manages to find her voice, a little soft and unused.

“Why?”

She doesn’t see the way his eyes light up in hidden meaning, smile wide while Rosie simply looks over with a smile of her own. 

The girl focuses on the singer on stage, thinking of things denied to her since she was condemned to hell, the way this club is warm, soft, full of life in such a dire place. That he would offer anything, she knows, comes with a price.

“Why simply put dear, I see something in you worth watching, consider it an investment on my part to see how you’ll grow into the potential I see.”

The girl is silent until the end of the song, listening to the roaring applause from the audience to the singer and band on stage, the somewhat quiet claps from the two at her own table nearly drowned out.  
The singer gives a standing bow walking off the stage before the host walks up on stage, announcing the next act that would be coming after her.

She turns back to Alastor who is still waiting patiently with a relaxed smile not like the one he had on when she had first tried to stab him.

“I...”

“Alastor! Rosie!”

She’s interrupted by the voice of a woman coming through the crowd towards the table, It was the singer who was just on the stage. 

Rosie and Alastor rise from their seats just as the woman gets to their table, giving Rosie a light embrace and Alastor a big squeeze, even though he looks a little flustered at the contact.

“Mimzy, darling, you were lovely!”

Alastor is quick to add in his praise to the woman who is tittering into her palm.

“Yes it was quite a performance! I must say a delightful choice!”

Mimzy’s gaze travels down from Alastor to the small cyclops sitting at the table gazing up at her, before her look becomes a slight inquisitive with a warm welcoming smile.

“Oh my, a new friend? Who is this?”

Alastor is about to answer but stops when the girl speaks up in her hesitant timid voice belying her current state.

“I’m...“

What was it he said? What she could be?

“Hi! I’m Niffty!”

The sinner stands frozen in place, eyes bulging, but not looking at the small cyclops holding a feather duster who’s blurring back and forth sweeping dust off every surface in the room, rather he's watching the back of the room near the window wearily.

“Sorry for the mess! We’re cleaning up right now before the new tenant gets here! It’s reaaaaaaally dirty in here, oh man!”

She’s chooses not to pay attention to the demon standing there in the door way, who is quietly sliding out of sight back down the hall. 

Instead she is focusing on her ongoing battle against the dust bunnies that think they’re safely hidden away through out the room, little do they know she’s the dust reaper and it’s time to harvest her crop. 

The wind whips past her ears as she moves but still she can still hear the ring of brass, strum of bass and drumbeat that seems to resonate in her very being, a jubilant dulcet gravelly voice sings into the air against the band. It’s an old song that was popular when she was still alive, strangely it was popular down here in hell as well, despite it’s subject. 

Hearing it Niffty cant help the electricity that dances through her small body, breaking into a jig momentarily, zipping off again, full of energy. The first song her best friend in all of hell ever sang to her, unintentionally might she add but it still counted! 

_“Oh, I want to be in that number!  
When the saints go marching in!”_

Alastor simply smiles, busying himself with wiping down the windows and window sill, tapping his foot to the familiar tune he’s heard time and again in both his life and afterlife. 

He’s satisfied with how things in the hotel were progressing, dare he say it he’s enjoying himself. He has no doubt this little hotel project will keep him entertained for a long while. 

After all, he thinks as he watches Niffty break into a dance she probably learned from Mimzy, He certainly has an eye for these kinds of things.

**Author's Note:**

> Song: When the saints go marching in  
Singer: Louis Armstrong  
This version specifically  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyx6Ke435BE


End file.
